


Need

by Azpou



Series: Need [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, Imprisonment, M/M, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-30
Updated: 2000-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azpou/pseuds/Azpou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in the mine while Daniel remains above, Jack faces some demons. Spoilers for 'Need'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

_Part One_  
He knows that look. He's seen it before. A long time ago now, but he remembers it just as if it were yesterday. It's a look that brings pain, both physical and mental, and it can't be stopped. Not in this situation.

He hates prisons. Can't stand them. At times, he thinks that he would rather die than see the inside of one again. But he knows that isn't true. He has too much to live for these days.

He never thought he'd say that again. Losing a child . . . it's the end of the world. Your sky falls in. Nothing can compare to the terrible feelings of loss, and separation, and guilt, overwhelming guilt, that surround the death of a child.

He'd thought that the life had been crushed out of him the day his son's body absorbed one of his bullets. He hadn't reckoned on the SGC, SG-1, coming into his life. More specifically, he hadn't reckoned on Teal'c.

He shakes his head, focuses on the task at hand. Get the naquada out of the goddamn rocks. Don't look back at that guard. Don't give him any encouragement. He can't afford to indulge in his feelings for the dark man hacking this goddamned mineral out of the seams at his side.

He glances at Carter. She's holding up well, all things considered. He'll have to watch that guard, though. Fucking snakehead knows he's the leader, and it wouldn't surprise O'Neill if she was used against him. It's been done before. He's seen it done before.

He swears suddenly, dropping the crude cutting tool he'd been given onto his foot. He can feel Teal'c staring at him watchfully, and looks up, meets his eyes. He nods silently, then groans as he catches sight of the guard stalking towards him.

"Fuck."

He says it quietly, but Carter hears and looks over at him, puzzled. Teal'c catches the tone, and when O'Neill looks back at him, he knows that he knows. Teal'c's done some shit in his time, he knows the score. Carter's no fool, either. She shoots him a look of such pity and horror that he wants to laugh.

"Nothing's happened yet, Carter. Nothing might."

_Yeah, right. Who're you trying to kid?_

She nods, and turns her head away. "Yes, sir, of course. I'm sorry."

_Was that sarcasm, Captain?_

He meets the eyes of the guard as he nears, but keeps quiet. Doesn't want to provoke him, make things worse. The easier this is, the easier it'll be for everyone. He's the team commander. He needs to stay in control.

It's possibly the hardest thing he's ever done. Aside from burying his kid, that is. He wants nothing more than to scream, and struggle. He's not sure he can go through this again.

He has to.

The guard nods at him. "You have . . . hurt your leg?" he asks.

O'Neill's eyes narrow at the mocking tone of his voice. He declines to answer.

_Go to hell, metal-head._

He's quite pleased with the pun. He stores it in his mind for future use as the chains around his ankles are unfastened.

"I will get you . . . medical attention," the guard is saying, smirking at Teal'c as he propels O'Neill towards the exit.

Teal'c stares at the guy for a long moment, blocking his path. O'Neill fixes his gaze on the Jaffa, and smiles at him comfortingly, trying to convey that he'll be okay, just hang in there.

Teal'c raises his eyebrow, his expression undeniably one of scepticism. O'Neill shakes his head.

_Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy._

But he understands Teal'c's feelings. He wouldn't like it if their positions were reversed. He draws comfort from the brief flash of tenderness on his partner's face.

He'll be okay. Teal'c will be there.

-

He tries to quell the fear threatening to overwhelm him. He concentrates on his surroundings, takes in the dark walls glittering with some unknown blue ore. There's no naquada down here. He finds it obscurely comforting - the shimmering reminds him of the stars seen from his rooftop at home. If he tries hard enough, lets his eyes blur, he can almost convince himself that's where he is.

Almost. The walls may be beautiful, but the contents of this room are not. The table at its centre, and the dim stains faded to blackness both on it and under it betray its purpose.

_My, my. I do so love a good torture chamber._

And this one ranks up there with the best. Hundreds of metres below the surface, a steady, pulsing drip of water the victim's only companionship. He tries not to imagine being so out of his mind with pain that he turns the sound into the heartbeat of a person.

He vows not to let that happen, not to think of his lover throughout this. Teal'c, and what they have, must not be contaminated by events in this room.

He holds his head high as the guard stalks around him, openly appraising his body. Tries not to flinch back as a hand darts out to hold his jaw firmly in place. "You are strong."

_Get outta my face._

He watches the guard's eyes as they trail over his features. "You are not afraid?"

O'Neill raises his eyebrows.

_You decide, fuckface._

The guard nods, grudging respect in the gesture. O'Neill suppresses the sigh he feels. He hates this part. The calm before the storm, when connections are made and common ground reached. Better to keep hating; he isn't the type who can turn it on, like flicking a switch. He needs hate to get him through battle.

_I hate you. Bastard._

The guard is annoyed at his lack of reaction.

_You want my respect? Want me to fall at your feet and lick the ground you walk on? Not gonna happen, friend._

"I will enjoy you," the Jaffa whispers softly, pulling a knife from his cloak. He trails it softly over O'Neill's throat, leaving a pathway of glistening red. "Strip," he commands, his breath harsh across O'Neill's suddenly cool body.

O'Neill glares at him. "You do it."

He smiles lazily. "As you wish," he drawls, before slashing O'Neill's shirt viciously, breaking his skin. O'Neill catches a breath as the material is torn away, begins to shiver as his pants are removed the same way.

Christ, that knife is sharp. He can feel it, slicing, dicing his flesh away from his body, pressed firmly, gliding lightly. He tries to push the pain aside, focuses on the heartbeat sliding down the walls.

_One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi -_

The knife cuts around his nipples, and he hears someone moan. He doesn't register that it's him.

_God, get it over with._

He's been tortured before, and it's been worse, but he can't stand waiting for the final act. The words, "Do it," slip out, before he has a chance to stop them.

The guard halts, and looks at him, puzzled. "You want this?" he asks, surprise in his voice.

O'Neill spits at him. "Yes. Do it. Now. Why make us both wait for what we both want?"

I'll do anything for this to be over . . .

He hates himself for it.

The guard has his head tilted to one side, considering the man before him. "I have known humans such as you," he says slowly. "Humans who have enjoyed the pain." He reaches down, and grasps O'Neill's cock in painfully tight fingers, sliding the knife edge over the tip.

O'Neill fixes his eyes on the gems, imagining home. Hating himself more as he pictures Teal'c, kissing him, loving him. Fucking him.

The guard's eyes widen as he feels O'Neill lengthen and harden in his hand. "You like this," he whispers, delighted.

O'Neill steels himself, and looks him at him straight, pupil to pupil. "Love it."

The guard laughs, leaning forward to lick at O'Neill's throat, sucking the blood from his chest, before pushing O'Neill to his knees. His head whips to the side as the guard backhands him, before cruel fingers grip his jaw and force his mouth open, wide.

He closes his eyes, unable to watch as the other man undoes his armoured pants, quips about crown jewels and heavy guards suspiciously absent from his mind. He can't look, won't look, and gags when the Jaffa's cock is pushed deep between his lips.

He concentrates on breathing through his nose, inhaling and exhaling as much air as often as possible. The smell of the man is almost more than he can take, clean and pure, but dirty in its nature. He tries to separate himself from reality, remembers every trick he's ever learned, to finish it here and now, before the act of penetration.

The guard realises, and pulls away quickly, certain sure of his prize. He flips O'Neill over onto his front, hauling his hips up from the floor, pausing only to run his hands softly, almost lovingly over O'Neill's flanks.

O'Neill closes his eyes, readies himself, but it isn't enough. The pain rips through him, tearing him, and he fights to pull away. He braces his forehead on his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. He wraps a hand around his neck in a vain attempt to protect himself. He doesn't notice the tears streaking down his face, doesn't hear his yells, doesn't listen to the guttural groans of the man thrusting into him. Knows nothing but the pain. In the distance, he can hear a heartbeat, thundering.

_One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi -_

He's almost hysterical, only his hatred keeping him grounded. He's been here before - when pain overtakes reality, becomes reality, so that there's nothing but an empty shell left over. It's important to remember something, anything, to stay conscious.

He screams out for Teal'c.

-

It seems to last forever. His cries fade to choked sobs, waves of pleasure crashing through him. He feels himself explode, the guard's hand milking his cock, and he shudders uncontrollably. He stays still, lets the Jaffa finish, too drained to move. He doesn't think - can't, or won't, he's not sure. Knows only that he'll do anything to get out of there, and back to Teal'c.

Finally, finally . . . the guard slows. Growls as he orgasms, shaking and snarling. He lies across O'Neill's damp back, panting, sweat trickling down his cheeks and over his tattoo. He licks his way strongly down O'Neill's spine, then pulls away. O'Neill flinches, rocking his body, his arms still cradling his head.

The guard stands, and watches him for a second before pulling him to his feet. He grips his head, forces O'Neill to look at him. "You did not want that," he states quietly.

O'Neill suppresses the urge to smack him, but meets his eyes defiantly. "No. I didn't."

The guard nods, encircles O'Neill's throat with his fist. "You will pay."

-

Some time later, a long time later, O'Neill lets himself be dragged back to his team mates. He doesn't fight, doesn't struggle - he's too exhausted. There's no pain, not anymore, not after the Jaffa sneaked into the throne room and dumped him in the sarcophagus for a couple of hours.

Mentally, he's numb. He's glad about that. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to feel. He just wants Teal'c, home, bed, sleep. He doesn't think it's too much to ask. But he's rarely got what he wanted in life. Whenever he does, it's ripped away from him, so he's not going to hold onto that thought for too long. He's learnt always to expect the worst.

Dimly, he realises that he can't let his team see him like this, not now, not ever. He sets his mind to the task of token resistance, and decides to drag his feet as much as possible. No way he's going to make it easy on the fuckers carrying him.

He can't stop himself falling where he's dropped, despite his intentions. He lies still, twists his head to squint up at Teal'c. Smiles as he watches his lover fix the guards with an icy stare.

_If we have to fight our way out of here, guess who gets to die first?_

The thought gives him comfort, and he very carefully doesn't listen to the little voice that answers the question.

_You. You idiot, O'Neill. It's always you._

He blocks out the fatalism, concentrates instead on the feel of Teal'c's arms straightening him up into something vaguely resembling a sitting position.

_More of a slump, really._

He leans back against the strong chest supporting him, savours the feel of loving arms wrapped soothingly around his body.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

_No._

He doesn't say that. Can't. He forces his eyes open, ignoring the instinct that tells him to sleep for just a few more seconds.

"Oh, I'm fine, Captain. Just dandy, thanks."

He's quite pleased with the tone. Just the right balance between sarcasm and pathos. It's about the only thing he has done right on this mission.

But he knows Teal'c isn't fooled, and shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to see Carter meet the worried glance.

He's lifted then, laid carefully on the ground in a small gap in the rock. Sheltered.

"Rest, O'Neill," he hears Teal'c command, and he obeys almost instantly. Almost.

"Teal'c?" he whispers tiredly.

He sighs contentedly as kind fingers brush over his face.

"I'm here, O'Neill. I will not leave."

_Good._

 

_Part Two_

 

_I can't deal with this right now._

He stares across the infirmary at Daniel, tossing and turning his way through withdrawal hell.

It brings back uncomfortable memories for O'Neill, more than he's prepared to cope with at the moment. As if the whole damn mission hadn't been bad enough. This operation had been blown from the very start, and knowing Daniel, he'll be blaming himself when he recovers. If he recovers.

O'Neill is ashamed at his feelings of resentment towards the archaeologist. He knows that what happened to him wasn't Danny's fault, but he isn't ready to blame himself. Not yet, and he won't be for a while.

_I shouldn't have to deal with this right now._

He leaves, and goes in search of Teal'c.

-

He finds his lover seated on the floor of his quarters. Lighted candles cast soft, flickering light over their bodies.

He ignores the shadows.

O'Neill watches Teal'c idly, imagining the strength of the man surrounding him, in him. He tries to memorise the serenity of Teal'c's body, loving the warm, calm expanse of muscle and sweet, chocolate flesh. O'Neill's never been one for verbal rhapsodies, but he loves to wax lyrical about the Jaffa in his mind. Sometimes, during their love making, he'll whisper his thoughts, vocalise them, just to make sure Teal'c knows.

He needs Teal'c desperately, has to fight the temptation to interrupt, wake him. He knows that Teal'c's meditations are important, if the Goa'uld larva inside him is to survive.

O'Neill turns away, looks at his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

He doesn't know what he should be seeing any more. Jack O'Neill, US Air Force Colonel? Or plain Jack, old, tired, and hurting?

He sees far more evidence for the latter. The lines that crease his face, greying temples, skinny neck. He's always hated his neck. Likes it even less now that his skin is thinning, tissue-like.

He starts when Teal'c touches his shoulder. O'Neill glances up, meets his eyes sadly in the mirror.

"Everything will be . . . fine," Teal'c tells him, hesitantly.

O'Neill laughs, the noise empty, hollow. "Don't sound so sure about it."

Teal'c remains silent. Wraps his arms around the slightly thinner man in front of him instead. O'Neill sighs. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't feel like he knows much of anything.

Teal'c rests his lips at O'Neill's pulse. "What do you need, my friend?" he asks quietly.

O'Neill chooses not to reply. "Have a good sleep?" he answers glibly.

Teal'c accepts the evasion without comment. "My meditation allowed me to clear my mind. I now feel more able to focus on the tasks ahead."

"Yeah?"

"I sought guidance so that I may be better able to help you, O'Neill."

O'Neill squeezes his eyes shut, tight against his sudden tears, and leans his head against Teal'c's. He tries to suppress the shaking of his body. He wants to be held.

He lets his lover lead him towards the candlelight, lets himself be pulled down to the floor where he can lie in the warm comfort of the flames, and the Jaffa's arms. Teal'c rocks him tenderly, hands roaming over O'Neill's form. O'Neill meets his eyes, pleading.

_I need you, Teal'c._

Teal'c looks back at him.

_Don't make me say it, you bastard._

Teal'c smiles, and leans in to kiss.

O'Neill's never forgotten the first time Teal'c kissed him. Soft, full lips, and incredible will, their first encounter had been explosive, a release after the stress of events on Apophis' ships. He'd been strung out, needing comfort and human contact after the death of Skaara. Teal'c had . . . wanted him.

O'Neill had been amazed, and still is, at the gentleness with which Teal'c touched him. Teal'c holds him as if he were fine glass, can somehow sense the fragility of his new found contentment in life. Not many have taken the trouble to look beyond the confident exterior he presented to the world, but Teal'c did. Teal'c looked, and liked what he saw.

O'Neill clutches at his lover's head, seeking to lose himself in the power of the other man. He lets his head fall back as Teal'c slides his mouth down his throat, sucking softly at heated flesh. He shudders as Teal'c deftly unfastens his fly, whimpers into Teal'c's tongue as he guiltily savours the pleasure of his partner's fingers dancing down the underside of his cock.

He wants to reciprocate, but Teal'c holds him firmly, gentles him with soothing whispers. Teal'c's hand is hot against the small of his back, rubbing in smooth, circular motions.

O'Neill shudders as Teal'c begins to suckle softly at his earlobe, feels his body begin to tense. He wishes distantly that he could hang, suspended like this, for the rest of his life, so that he wouldn't have to think about . . . anything. No longer aware of anything but ripples of bitter sweet happiness spinning around him, he reaches the pinnacle. His aching cries are stifled by careful kisses, and he feels his body trembling.

Teal'c holds him steady, as always, sharing the burden willingly. O'Neill stares up at him in askance.

"What about you?"

Teal'c smiles at him softly, tilts a delicately arched eyebrow. His hand travels lovingly over O'Neill's face. "I am fine." His palm sweeps through O'Neill's silvered hair, caressing. "And you, my friend?"

O'Neill sighs, and looks past him to the ceiling.

_And just who am . . . I?_

He thinks, hard. Jack O'Neill. From Chicago. Divorcee. Colonel. Team leader. War veteran. Former prisoner of war. Owner of numerous medals and commendations. Explorer. Stargazer. Father. Lover.

Rape victim?

_Nah. It just doesn't match._

He looks back at Teal'c, still patiently waiting. As always.

He smiles slowly, doesn't stop his hand lingering over his friend's gold marking.

"Yeah," he says quietly, confidently. "I think I'm gonna be okay."


End file.
